Not So Lucky
by ls1258
Summary: Set in the world of The Hunger Games, Hannaleigh Rothing is chosen instead of Prim. With no volunteers. The small 16-year-old knows her chances of returning home are slim, but she will not give up just yet. (Sorry if the format is awful. I'm new here.)
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfic, so please have mercy (although criticism/comments/reviews are greatly appreciated). Thanks for reading!

* * *

Chapter 1

I wake to a blue, clear sky. Blinking against the light, I sit up and stretch. It's been a long time since I slept this late, but I will still have time to get prepare for the stressful day ahead.

I am reluctant to leave my warm bed, but finally drag myself out from under the covers. While the water runs for a bath, I look through my dresses saved for special occasions. I have it narrowed my choices down to three when I hear footsteps behind me.

"I think the yellow one." My mother kisses me on the top of the head, and smiles. "Yellow is a happy color. Now, go take your bath. It's ready."

I pad down the hallway, and after unbuttoning my nightgown, I slowly slide into the water. I'm not nervous, but I don't feel...normal. The reaping is always a sad day, even though I have never seen any of my friends chosen. With my father as a respected Peacekeeper and socializing with only the highest class people, I know that the chances of me or any of the people close to my family entering the Games are slim.

I carefully massage the soap into my long, dark hair that is my favorite aspect of myself. I have always been called pretty, but I am small and not filled out like a woman. It's hard not to be jealous of all the girls who strut around, making all the boys turn their way when everyone thinks you are three years younger than you actually are. Still, I love my hair, and my unusually light skin for District 12 that is a family trait. I have large, round eyes, but even though I am fifteen, everything else about me is small and thin, like my lips, shoulders, and waist.

After the water becomes cold, I know its time to get out of the bath and towel off. I reluctantly remove myself from the water and return to my room to find Marge waiting for me there. Her dark, wrinkled face is unusually solemn. She helps me slip into the yellow frock, and begins buttoning the back up. Next, she does my hair up into a fancy knot, the same style she has always done for the reaping. Once she has finished, she turns me around to face her, and I see a tear in her eye.  
"You're so beautiful," she whispers. "Be strong, my sparrow."

She embraces me tightly as I wonder what she was talking about. Marge's words are always a little mysterious at face value, so I figure I will discover their meaning later.

"Hannaleigh," my mother calls up the stairs. Marge strokes my cheek, not saying a word, which is unusual for her. Ever since I had been born, Marge has been my nurse and nanny. She is the one person I trust completely in this world, even more than Mother and Father. I tell her everything. She always gives me cryptic advice that never fails to be exactly right, so her lack of some old saying is a little worrying.

"I'll see you when I get home," I say with a forced smile, for her silence and sad expression are bothering me. I go to the door, and take one last look at Marge who now has a tear slowly gliding down her cheek, and go downstairs to meet my parents.

As I walk to the town square, I see my best friend, Lillian, walking with her parents and her two little sisters. She smiles nervously, for her sister Tabitha has just turned twelve in April. I kiss my mother and father on the cheek, and join Lillian to find our way to the the growing section of girls. Lillian and I stand towards the back of our age group, holding hands tightly. I can see her craning her neck to find Tabitha through the whole half hour wait, and opening speech by the mayor. I never listen to the boring rants about Panem, and how the Games represent its strength, and blah blah blah. Finally, the escort appears, dressed in a ridiculous fashion, as always. Bright pink hair, with a contrasting light green suit. Effie Trinket never fails to be so ridiculous, as everyone from the Capitol does.

Vaguely, I wonder who will be chosen this year. I see Katniss Everdeen dressed in blue a little ways in front of me, and, though I am ashamed, hope it will be her. She's strong, fast, can hunt, and is in general, a fighter. District 12 could finally have a victor if she is chosen. Her name is certainly in there enough times.

I quickly shake my head to rid me of the terrible thoughts. I know I shouldn't wish the Games upon anyone, even if they stand a chance. I turn my attention back to the stage to see a drunk Haymitch Abernathy hug the repulsed Effie. After a quick recovery, she make a short speech, ending with her trademark, "and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

Finally, she struts over to pick the name from the huge glass bowl of girls. The crowd holds its breath as she daintily selects a name, and returns to the microphone. She unfolds the paper, and says in her ridiculous accent, "Hannaleigh Rothing."

The first thing I feel is Lillian's hand tightening around mine. "No," she whispers quietly. No what? It takes a second to realize that people are pushing me into the thin alleyway through the crowd, but Lillian won't let go. Why are they pushing me? What's going on? The female tribute has just been chosen.

Then it dawns on me. _I_ am the female tribute. _I_ am going to fight for my life. Not Katniss Everdeen. Me, Hannahleigh Rothing, the rich Peacekeeper's daughter who has only been entered three times. Not a grimy girl from the Seam with who knows how many slips in there.

I can't force my legs to work, can't force air in and out of my lungs. I'm stuck, glued to the ground, in danger of collapsing. I only become unfrozen when someone pushes me roughly from behind. I stumble forward until I find the small part in the crowd up to the stairs. I am only barely able to lift my legs high enough to avoid tripping on the concrete terraces. My face is slack and emotionless, for I still can't quite comprehend what's going on. Finally, I turn and stand on the stage, seeing the crowd but not understanding, hearing the voices, but not registering words, or recognizing that a male tribute has been chosen. I barely even blink when Haymitch pitches head long into the crowd. Finally, I focus on Lillian in the crowd. I try not to cry but the tears slip out after I see her sobbing into the shoulder of another girl.

I look away, and my eyes fall on the boy I just noticed was on the stage with me. I recognize him as Breckan Dirr, an eighteen-year-old Seam kid who is strong from having to work in the mines. His face is ashen, but determined. _Maybe he'll win_, I think vaguely. I don't even realize I've been walking or even moved until I am sitting on a couch in the Justice Building. The tears are falling freely now, and my breath is coming in heaves. Startlingly, I can't remember most of what happened after I got on the stage. I know I must have shaken hands with Breckan, but I don't remember. There must have been some sort of speech from the mayor and Effie, but I can't recall any words they said.

I am starting to come to my senses when the door bangs open and my mother rushes into the room. One look at her tear streaked face, and I immediately wrap my arms around her neck as fresh tears swell on my cheeks.

"Oh honey, oh my baby," she keeps whispering. My father stands by awkwardly, not sure what to do. He has never been the loving type, but I thought he would at least hug me in the last minutes before I go off to die.

There. I said it. I am going to die. It is a fact. I am too small, too weak, and not smart enough to win. My shoulders shake as my mother strokes my hair. Finally, the Peacekeepers tell us our time is up. My father embraces me briefly as my mother tells me how much she loves me, and then they are gone. Just like that. I will never see them again.

A few minutes later, Marge comes into the room. She doesn't hug me, though I desperately want her to wrap her arms around me and never let go.

"You listen to me," she says, with no emotion but determination in her voice. "You will _not_ give up. You are not the biggest or the strongest, but you are smart. Use that, my sparrow. Hide. Form alliances with the right people. But never, ever, _ever_, give up. You can do this. Alright?"

I nod, my vision blurry from the constant stream of tears.

"Alright," she says, her voice soft, "now, come here." She envelopes me in her warm arms, and presses my face against her chest. We say nothing for the remainder of her time allotted, until she is headed for the door.

"I love you, little sparrow, " she whispers.

"I love you, too," I reply. And then she too is gone. In her place is a faint ache in my chest, the feeling that someone is holding onto me too tight.

I stay in the room for a little while by myself, trying to calm down. Lillian comes in, and gives me a long hug. Too soon, she too has to say her goodbyes. Before she the Peacekeepers pull her out of the room, she gives me my favorite necklace, the one Marge gave me as a baby. It is a tiny little gold thing with a sparrow with wings spread on the end. I don't know if the necklace gave her the idea for my pet name, or if she got the necklace after she started calling me her sparrow, but both have always been a part of my life.

"Marge asked me to give it to you," she says, "for your token."

We say a tearful goodbye, and she, too, is gone. And I am alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Soon, I am forced back out into the view of the public, with a swollen face, and red eyes and nose. I just try to make it to the train without collapsing on the ground. _Goodbye, District 12_, I think. I force myself to not look at the faces of the people watching me stumble up the steps, keep myself from looking into the cameras that are broadcasting my meltdown live for the entire country. Finally, the doors slam shut, and I notice that Effie has been blabbering away the whole time, and that Breckan is standing next to me. His expression looks like what mine must have when I first got called on the stage and didn't understand what was going on. What was waiting for me.

His dark eyes are somewhat glassy, but not from tears. He looks like he is feverish. His face is completely white, his mouth slack, and no expression on his face. His eyes dart around, but don't seem to be taking in information. I take a glance around, too, and am shocked. I am bombarded on every side by some sort of lavish furniture, by large and clearly expensive decoration. Under any other circumstances, I would be ecstatic with the riches around me, but with my current death sentence, I am nothing but numb to the frills.  
Effie leads escorts me to my personal room, where endless surprises await me. Drawers full of fine clothing, hundreds of shower options, and panels of buttons everywhere. As I sit on the silky fabric of my huge, feathery bed, the train takes off, slowly at first, but working its way up to a dizzying speed. The trees and fields whipping by in a blur facinate me for a while, but I quickly move to darker thoughts. Thoughts of my future. Or lack thereof.

I'm finally alone and away from the cameras, but I can't seem to cry anymore. I'm just numb, almost disbelieving that I will never see my parents again, or Lillian. Or Marge. So I just sit, staring blankly at the landscape whizzing by.

Eventually, I hear a knock, and Effie's chipper voice calling me to dinner. I rise stifly, and follow her to the dining car. I sit next to the grim Breckan, who seems to have finally let some tears escape during our alone time, but his face has managed to once again be void emotion.

Our sadness disappears as soon as the trays arrive. Even though my family is undoubtedly one of the richest in District 12, nothing I've ever eaten compares to the delacacies arranged in front of us. I try to keep myself from stuffing everything in my mouth at once, but it's difficult. If I am relishing the meal this much, how is Breckan able to control himself? I look over to see his plate covered with a little bit of every dish available, eagerly grabbing more whenever a new dish arrives. His mouth is chewing faster than I knew humanly possible, trying to mash up the food just enought to swallow before he takes another huge forkful. I almost laugh when I see Effie's horrified expression. Almost.

Effie shakes her head as if to clear it of the frightening image, and asks, "Where's Haymitch?" Nobody answers.

Soon, I'm so full that I can't take another bite, but Breckan just keeps eating. And eating. And eating. He is a large boy, six feet if not taller, and close to two hundred pounds. Being a kid from the Seam with several younger siblings, I don't know how he is so big and healthy looking. Not to mention strong.

I am beginning to think that his emotionless appearance is his natural facial expression. His eyes and thick eyebrows are almost parallel, which is probably the reason for the look. He has a wide nose reaching down to thin lips, and a strong, square jawline. Everything about him screams District 12, except for his eyes, which are deep brown instead of the usual green or hazel.  
Suddenly, Effie exclaims excitedly that it's time for the recap of the reapings, and we must got to the viewing car _now_. Breckan looks uncertain as he is still shoveling food in, but a servant comes and loads the remaining food onto a cart and wheels in into the room along with us.

We sit on a gigantic plush couch while Breckan somehow continues to take mouthfuls of food. We watch name after name get pulled, until they all blur together. After, only a few faces stick out. The Careers from 1, 2, and 4, a large boy from 7, who seems only furious that his name was called, a small but stocky boy from 9, and a tiny girl from 10, whose name is Lillian. I pretend to cough when her name is called to stop myself from crying. It's pretty embarassing to watch myself get chosen, and stand there completely terrified, while Breckan looks completely calm.

After the anthem finally fades out and a comment from Effie on Haymitch's behavoir, the door to the car opens. A drunk Haymitch staggers in, wondering if he missed dinner. No one has time to respond as he promptly vomits all over the floor, and passes out in the puddle. All of us clear the room and abandon him to be taken care of by the wait staff.

After fleeing back to my room, I just stand in the doorway for a while, unsure of what to do. Eventually, I strip off my clothes, and step into the shower. I press some random buttons, hoping I don't end up drowned in suds, and just stand for a while. Could I really have been laughing with Lillian just yesterday? Was I really just dressed by Marge this morning? _Oh no_. I quickly shut off the water, dry myself, and throw on some pajamas before I collapse on the bed. And completely lose it.

If I thought my crying this morning in the Justice Building was bad, it's nothing compared to this. For a while I just shake with the horror and grief, few tears spilling down my cheeks. Soon, though, horrible wails escape my throat, and the flood of tears comes in earnest. It's not enough, though. I have to rid myself of the grief inside, which is clawing on my chest, trying to rip open my ribs. What was once an ache is now a white-hot knife being driven into me, turning, tyring to empty me of my blood. I grab one of the many pillows on the bed and scream into it until my voice breaks. Still, the talons are tearing at my flesh. So I grab another pillow and slam it into the bed, over and over and over, until my arms can't take it, and I fall face first onto the bed. My body is completely exhausted, can do nothing to stop the horrible dagger ripping me apart from the inside. I lay there silently for God knows how long, the water never failing to stream down my face, praying for it to end now. The tortures of the arena could be nothing compared to this.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have, because a knock on my door wakes me, along with Effie's declaration that it will be a "big, big, big day!" My head pounds, my body aches, but the blissful emotional numbness has returned. The knife wound has healed and scarred. And that's all I need to get up. After last night, any relief is heaven.

I quickly dress myself in the first thing I find in the drawers, for once in my life not caring what I look like, and make my way to the dining car. In the hallway, I pass a displeased Effie, but don't have enough energy to wonder what happened.

Once in the dining car, I am surprised to see a puffy-faced Haymitch beckoning me to sit down. Despite my exhaustion, I gorge myself on the Capitol delicacies again, and Breckan does the same, though I notice not quite to the extent of last evening's meal. He must have learned his lesson last night.

After we're finished, Breckan and I sit in silence as Haymitch continues to drink some red juice that he periodically mixes with some white liquor in a flask.

"What exactly is your job, again?" Breckan asks. It is the first time I have heard him speak since we were reaped. His voice is low and husky, and not very friendly.

Haymitch considers the question for a moment before he answers.  
"My job is to keep you two alive."

"Well are you going to do it, or are you going to get drunk?" Both Breckan's and Haymitch's eyes narrow to slits. I just sit there, looking back and forth, not knowing what to do.

"You've watched the Games before, right?" Haymitch asks. Of course, he knows Breckan has, just like I know this conversation is about to go in a very unpleasant direction. "Well you know those little shiny things that fall from the sky? Those are called _parachutes_, and _parachutes_ have little presents inside." Haymitch voice is dripping with sarcasm, but Breckan just sits there, showing no reaction to the patronization. He is not stupid, but Haymitch wants to make him feel like he is.

"Do you know how you get those little presents?" Haymitch continues. "No?" he asks when Breckan shows no response. "I have to talk to people. I hate poeople. And, more importantly, those people have to like you." Breckan's face is still void of emotion. "Also, it's my job to tell you what your strategy will be. And guess what? I only do that if I like you. So stop being a prick and make people, and me, want you to not die an excruciatingly painful death."

Breckan stands up without a word and leaves. Haymitch goes to add some more spirits to the juice, but changes his mind and drains the remaining liquid from the flask in three huge gulps. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looks me up and down, as if just noticing my existence.

"I thought ten-year-olds weren't eligible for the reaping." And without another word, he knocks his chair over backwards exits the dining car, nearly stumbling into the door.

For a minute I sit alone at the table, rearranging the scraps of food left on my plate, and attempting to ignore my aching chest and head. I distract myself by trying to measure just how much I hate Haymitch. Eventually, I don't know what else to do, so I just go back to my room and lay on the bed, running my hands over the soft fabric and watching the scenery whiz by, desperately trying to keep the scar in my chest closed.

I don't realize I have fallen asleep again until I hear Effie's voice calling me to come into the hallway. I open the door groggily, no longer able to ignore the jackhammer inside my skull. The little gasp she emits at the sight of my tangled hair sends a flash of pain through it.

After smoothing down the mess as much as it will go, and getting some pills for my head from a servant, Effie leads me into a car I haven't been in. Almost immediately, I can feel the headache beginning to fade. It must be nice to have the Capitol technology at your disposal whenever you want it.

Breckan is there already seated in the car, looking angry as he sits as far away as possible from Haymitch. It is the first time I have seen him with any sort of emotion on his face. There are large windows all around, and I am confused as to why we are in here, until I see the city. I have seen the Capitol on film and in pictures, but nothing compares to seeing it for real. The sight of the white marble and colorful mansions entrances me, and I press my face up against the window, trying to get a better view.

Behind me Effie giggles excitedly at my reaction, while Haymitch rolls his eyes and takes a swig from his clearly refilled flask. Breckan does seem to be interested in the sight, though I know he is trying not to show it. After going through a tunnel that leads us through the mountains, we pull into the station. I back away from the window once scores of people waiting come in the view, cheering, screaming. All of them are dressed in the ridiculous fashions of the Capitol.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Breckan's face go white, and he nearly sprints out of the car. After weighing the pros and the cons of staying at the window, I follow him out, and wander to the main doors of the train to wait for the others. Effie appears moments later with Breckan in tow, who looks like he might be sick. I know how he feels. All these people cheering for us have never had to worry about anything but if their hair follows the current trend. I know I am one of the privileged ones in 12, but I see plenty of suffering. How many times have I walked past a body just lying in the streets, either starved or frozen to death? How many children do I see lined up at the Justice Building every month to sign up for tesserae? Watching is better than living it by far, but these people have never had to see it. And they disgust me.

I know the doors are about to open, so I put on my best smile even though my breath is quickening. . Effie nods encouragingly, and tries to get Breckan to do the same. All he manages is to look slightly less revolted.

Suddenly, the doors slide back, and we step onto the platform and for a moment, my whole body freezes. I don't want all these people to be paying attention to me, gawking at me, judging me. Then the crowd roars even louder, and I ignore the fear. I give a small wave, trying my best to look confident and not terrified like I really am. The noise of the crowd surrounds me, painfully filling my head. I stumble along blindly, trying to keep the bright pink hair of Effie in view. Thankfully, it is only a short walk to the building we are headed to, but it seems like forever until the doors are slammed shut behind us. Finally, I can breathe deeply again without the deafening voices assaulting me.

We are lead through a maze of hallways until we reach a a set of silver doors labeled with a 12. Effie opens them for me, and tells Breckan he is in the room to the left. I slowly walk inside, not sure what to expect, until a group of three clearly Capitol people runs excitedly up to me, introduce themselves as Octavia, Venia, and Flavius, and practically squeak that they are my prep team. I try very hard to paste a smile on my face and not to stare at the unusual ways they have decorated their bodies. If I am unsuccessful, they show no sign. They probably like people staring at them.

I am quickly stripped, examined, and made to undress. I hate being naked in front of anyone except Marge, especially these three obnoxious, rainbow-hughed strangers. I ignore the pang that goes through my chest when I think of Marge.

I am soon distracted as the team rubs me down with something that seems to contain dirt and erodes away my skin. I almost enjoy this pain. It's real, it's physical. Once I am sufficiently raw, I am made to lie on a table to be rid of the majority of the hair on my body. I knew my legs would endure some waxing, but I was unaware that my arms would have to, also. Strip after strip of wax paper in placed onto my arms, legs, and armpits, and promptly ripped off. The pain makes my eyes water, and a dull ache return to my head. My already thin eyebrows are plucked until barely existent. I feel like they are slowly tearing away pieces of who I am.

The team seems ecstatic at the state of my nails, though, as I have always been taught that clean nails are the first sign of a lady. Apparently, not many other people from 12 had the same lesson. They spend about five minute telling me a story through fits of giggles about a girl's nails that were just so _awful_ that they had to glue on fake ones. I at least try to pay attention.

Soon, I am completely covered in various lotions that sting my freshly ripped follicles, but soon cool them to a pleasant normalness. If I thought I was done, I was wrong. I plop back down on the edge of the table while the three have an urgent, hushed conversation. Flavius briefly exits the room while Venia and Octavia wait nervously. Upon his return, he seems relieved, as do the two females. Octavia picks a pair of scissors from their large selection of tools, and approaches me. I recoil with horror as I realize they are about to cut my hair. My long, dark hair. My hair is beautiful. It makes _me_ beautiful.

Through my panic I hear Octavia laugh. "We're not going to cut it off, silly," she says, her strange tinkling voice light. "It's just gorgeous. It's only a trim for you. Although, I do think you would look fantastic if you got some purple in the back..." and I suddenly stop listening, relieved that my hair will not be completely chopped off.

Faint _snips_ work their way into my mind as Octavia removes the split ends. I am suddenly aware that my headache is returning, and close my eyes to block out the bright lights in the room.

"Alright, you're finished!" Octavia exclaims. The whole prep team begs me to stand up and let them admire my "new self!" so I do, simply in the hopes it will shut them up. Their high-pitched voices send jolts of pain through my head every time they speak.

I am finally allowed to sit down, and am told that Cinna will be by in just a minute, and the squeaking laughter is mercifully gone. Turning this way and that, I look at my strange new body. None of the familiar dark hair remains, except on my head. It feels strange to see myself like this. I don't like it.

Hastily, I grab the robe I first put on when I got here, and shrug it onto my shoulders. I can't help but rub my face against the soft, silky fabric.

Cinna is taking longer than I expected, so I go back and sit on the table, clutching my pounding head in my hands, longing for another one of the magic pills. This is going to be a long rest of the day.


End file.
